Thoughts on Regret, Death, and Kyle
by ushankalove
Summary: Stan contemplates what would drive him to murder his best friend...perhaps it's not his fault. Stan's POV...not a slash!
1. Prologue

_Ok, this is really my first attempt at novelized drama, so bare that in mine when you're reading this. Yes, it has a lot of angst and violence in it, just so you know. It's Stan's POV, and the other chapters of this story will be based off what he talks about in this prologue. Enjoy! _

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Prologue

It's only now that I understand the human psyche, and how it affects our actions. Or maybe I'm wrong, maybe now it's an even greater mystery to me than it ever was before. Now that I think about it, I never really gave one iota of thought towards how and why we think the things we do. That's something Kyle would have done, Kyle would have contemplated his own thoughts until so many vague, twisted ideas ran askew in his ever pondering brain that he would become sleep deprived due to over thinking such a complex concept. However, I don't think like Kyle. No one thinks the way Kyle did.

You see, I, Stan Marsh, could tell you honestly I was Kyle Broflovski's best friend, and was as familiar with him as he was with himself. This brings me to a greater quarry, one that I have yet to resolve within the realm of my own conscious. How could a bond, no, a love for someone be so easily destroyed by a compulsive action, something done in a plight of confusion with little thought or regard of consequences. How, why do we do things on an ill thought-out whim that end up having profoundly devastating consequences? Never before had I felt such a need to know the answer to such an obscure question. That's more like something Kyle would have wondered, not me. Then again, I am not the same person I was before Kyle left, so I don't think I can compare my present self to the way I was before. The way I was when I still had Kyle.

It's truly amazing how dramatically a person can change their whole personality-their whole outlook on life, after losing someone close to them. Kyle was more than just a really close friend; he was a part of me. He was my morals, my company, and hell, the only other sane individual who would agree with my rationale when things got out of hand as they often did in out little mountain town of South Park. Why did he have to leave, why did he have to die on me? Didn't he know I need him? He could have survived if he had just tried, but he just gave up. It's his fault.

No, I can't blame him. I don't want to blame him, but I can't stand to admit to myself that I am the one at fault here, even if it's true. It's punishment enough that he's gone, why do I have to live with the guilt? God hates me, if he didn't, he would have never allowed me to press that god-forsaken pistol into the heaving chest of Kyle Broflovski in the first place.

Somehow, everything prior to when I pulled the trigger is a blur. Only after I had committed the senseless act, had my rational, moral, and generally well-meaning side emerge from the caverns of my conscious to mock me for my foolish actions. By then, all I could do was stare at my best friend slowly lose grasp of any life left in him as his limp body lay awry in a deep red pool of his own blood. I was, and still am, unable to comprehend what would drive me to murder my best friend.

It's now I think back to my original question. Why does our mind allow us to do things we will later regret? Why does it allow us to do the irrational, the immoral, and unintended? If Kyle were here, I'd ask him, I'm sure he would have a better answer than I do.


	2. The Beginning of the End

_Alright, this is the first chapter of several that follow the prologue. The following chapters will tell what happened before Stan murdered Kyle, how, and why it happened. Stan's POV._

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_Why is it when something goes wrong, everything else does as well? It's Murphy's Law, everything that can go wrong-will. It opens up a Pandora 's Box, and then, nothing goes right, until we're all frustrated out of our minds and being irrational. _

It had been a Tuesday when the whole mess started. I heaved the door of the school's entrance open, panting out of breath. I looked down the hall, and as I expected, there wasn't a soul. Of course not, I was ten minutes late, what did I expect? I knew I was going to get some sort of a lecture, or an un-orthodox form of embarrassment for being late. Tardiness was one of Ms. Garrison's pet peeves, and trust me, she'd let you know in the worst possible way. However, I don't think Ms. Garrison was "all there," if you know what I mean…

Staggering towards the door, I quickly tried to tidy myself. I had ran the whole way from my house, which was probably a more cumbersome distance than any kid with asthma should attempt in such a short period of time. I straightened the outer edge of my hat, bent over and tied my left shoe, which I had already tripped over twice, took a breath, and went over my best "Why I wasn't in class on time" excuse in my head. I cracked the door, and braced myself. Time to feel Ms. Garrison's wrath.

As I walked in, I slowly relaxed from the tense brace I was holding. By now I would have expected Ms. Garrison to have cracked her first of many smart ass comments; however, that's not what I received when I entered. She was quietly seated in the far corner of the classroom, her attention, as well as my classmates', semi-focused on Mr. Mackey, who was amidst one of his speeches he gives when something important or tragic has happened.

He paused briefly upon my entering, then nodded as I slinked my way to my chair. I noticed Kyle's chair was empty, which was not only odd, but disappointing, considering that I wanted to ask him what the hell Mr. Mackey was in there for. I glanced around at the other kids, all of which stared in a daze at the tall, lanky man with the oversized head, and I wasn't sure if they were actually interested in what he was saying or half asleep. I noticed Ms. Garrison didn't even give me any form of justifying glance, and the fact she didn't show any notice that I had violated one of her biggest rules, made me think whatever it was Mr. Mackey was discussing must have had some importance.

"What was done was intolerant, heartless, and not acceptable, m'kay? So children, if I hear that any of you do anything to offend, humiliate, or hurt another student again, I'll see to it you receive a severe punishment, m'kay?"

I must have come in at the tail end of his lecture, because he turned to leave after receiving a nod of approval from Ms. Garrison. I was thankful for that, Mr. Mackey's speeches had a tendency to not only be boring, but irrational. That seemed to be the trend with the adults in South Park though, and it was always my opinion that the kids were the voice of reason.

Ms. Garrison rose from her chair and assumed her normal spot at the black board. I tapped on Kenny's shoulder, figuring he'd know what was going on.

"Dude, what was that about?" I asked.

"You didn't know? A group of kids beat up Kyle last night, I hear he's in pretty rough shape. I figured you'd have known that, considering you're his best friend and all."

It was like Kenny to be blunt about things, but I hoped he would have laid that on my a little more gently.

"What? Who? Who did that? Was it Cartman? I'll kick this ass!"

"Well, actually, I heard it was Craig, Clyde, and Butters."

"Butters?" I said shocked. "Why would Butters do that, he doesn't even hang out with them. And why would any of them do that anyway?"

"I'm not sure, but I've heard them saying some pretty nasty stuff about him recently as well. Almost Cartman-esque. And it's not just them, I've heard a lot of others talking trash about Kyle and I even heard rumors that he's planning on bringing in a gun and shooting up the school. That's a load of shit though…probably something Cartman made up. And what's worse, people are actually believing this! You don't believe them, right Stan?"

"Of course not!" I retaliated, almost offended that Kenny would even ask.

I knew people hadn't been being very nice to Kyle, but it seemed to have escalated over the past few months. The fact that Kyle had actually been physically assaulted surprised me, and for what? Kyle hadn't done anything but been his good old self, trying to do the right thing and staying true to his morals like he always had. Why he had been targeted was a mystery. Everyday, it seemed more and more people turned against him, and although I knew I was Kyle's best friend, I hoped the pressure to turn against him wouldn't affect me.

The duration of that day was interminable. I felt like time was dilated, minutes seeming to take hours. I desperately wanted to get out of school and head over to Kyle's house. That's all I could think of, and I prayed he wasn't too physically or emotionally scarred. It's true, he'd dealt with worse, but I wondered how much that kid could handle before he broke down into a dilapidated pile of shattered emotions.

Laying my head on my desk, my eyes stared glazed at the pencil I was rolling along its surface. The last thing I could focus on was one of Ms. Garrison's arduous lectures, if she even was giving one; my mind was too preoccupied to notice. I had stopped looking at the clock a while ago, hoping that maybe if I didn't focus on it time would go faster. It didn't, and by the time the bell finally wrung, I had almost convinced myself that leaving school was an unrealizable dream, and that I was destined to sit at this desk for all of eternity.

I don't think I'd ever gotten out of that school so quickly in my life. I ran out onto the streets, contemplating how I'd managed to start, and end, my school day by running, literally. I flew past the houses, and the pavement below me streaked under me in a grayish blob. The air was thin, as it always was, but I managed to maintain a run all the way until I made it to the door of the Broflovski residence. I knocked a couple times, and then let myself in, as I often did at Kyle's house. I called for him once, and then worked my way up the stairs to his room. I tapped on his door lightly, hoping he wouldn't be asleep.

"Kyle, Kyle? Are you in there?" After a pause, I heard movement and a very groggy, beat up Kyle opened the door.

"Hey Stan." He said solemnly, looking down at his feet and shuffling them nervously.

"Are you okay? I heard you got into a fight yesterday." I felt awkward for asking that question, as it was obvious Kyle was nothing near what I would consider "okay." A long gash ran along his forehead to his ear, several stitches loosely laced the line of crusted blood. His right eye was almost swollen shut, and his hat had a tear on one of the flaps. He wasn't wearing his coat, and another deep wound was exposed on his right arm.

"I've been better." He responded softly, still looking at his feet.

"Are you going to be at school tomorrow?" I asked.

"Yeah, I guess…"

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow then. Feel better dude." I felt strange for leaving so quickly, but I could tell this was one of those cases where Kyle probably wanted to be left alone. I looked into Kyle's eyes, gave him a half-hearted smile, and turned to leave. Again I made my way down the street towards my house, this time walking with my hands in my pockets. Seeing Kyle in such a rough shape disturbed me. Not only was he beat up physically, but something else seemed out of place. He had acted as if his spirit had been crushed by the cruelty of others. I promised myself I'd never do anything to hurt Kyle, ever. And if I had known what was to come, I would have kept that promise.


	3. Propagating Hatred

_Here's chapter two for ya! )   
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Chapter Two

_Change…those trees haven't changed, the snow hasn't changed, those mountains certainly haven't changed, hell, even this seat hasn't changed. Then why do us, as people, have to change, and why are we powerless to stop it? Who ever said change was a good thing was an optimist, which in essence, is a stupid person who just doesn't know it yet. _

I leaned my head against the back of the brown leather seat, staring blankly up into the tin ceiling of the bus. I wasn't used to the silence, especially considering Kyle was sitting next to me. Well, I wouldn't have actually called it "sitting," as it was more of a discombobulated flop, his head pressed up awkwardly against the seat in front of us, his pupils floating around his eyes with no real intended focus, and his body slumped almost limp in a position that said, "I don't care about my life anymore."

"So...Kyle…we're, uh, studying great philosophers today…that should be fun huh?" I wanted to smack myself; that was the best I could come up with to break the silence with my best friend? Fucking philosophers? True, Kyle did like that sort of thing, and I always figured he'd be the next great one, but still, I couldn't help but feel like that was pretty lame.

"Yeah…sure." Kyle said, or at least I think he said, I couldn't tell, his voice was barely audible.

The bus ride was fairly uneventful, or at least it was until we made it to Craig's bus stop. It hadn't occurred to me that if he was one of the ones who attacked Kyle, this could get pretty nasty.

I watched as Craig scanned for an open seat. He glared at Kyle as he walked by, and I could tell he was inspecting his wounds, which were no where near healed and Kyle's blood still crusted over the areas of stitches. True, it hadn't even been two full days since he had gotten them, but it looked as Kyle had been run over by a lawnmower five minutes ago.

He and Clyde took a seat adjacent to Cartman and Butters, who were unfortunately right behind us. I peeked my head out into the aisle and glanced at the four boys, then turned forward again, and I placed my hand on Kyle's shoulder.

The engine lurched, and the bus continued on it's less than comfortable voyage down the old, rutted road. Behind us I heard discussion, and it wasn't long before I figured out who and what it pertained to. I sat still, hoping Kyle wasn't paying attention to the conversation which was fairly easy to distinguish, and I listened.

"So, Craig, Clyde, Butters, nice job." Cartman said. "You really showed that sneaky Jew a lesson."

"Oh boy did we! W-we opened up a can of, er, uh, whoopass." Squawked an overly enthusiastic Butters.

"Great, first us, then the whole fourth grade, and then the whole school! We'll show Kyle that we don't want him around." Clyde sneered, with almost the same heartless enthusiasm of Cartman.

"Alright men, good work, we'll meet again on the playground. Tell the other kids to meet us too. Under the trees by the east wall." Cartman said. It was easy to tell he was the one who hatched the idea for this thing, and this thought made my blood boil. I knew Cartman hated Kyle, everyone knew that, (for what I'll never know) but the fact that he was trying to make everyone feel the same reminded me of something Hitler would have done. Then again, Cartman was Hitler for all I was concerned. I redirected my attention from eavesdropping to look at Kyle, whom I noticed had a small tear streaming down one of his cheeks.

I so wanted to punch those fucktards behind us in the face, not only for the fact that they were basically propagating the idea of turning everyone against my best friend, but for having the audacity to talk about it when they knew for damn sure he could hear every word. They had succeeded in destroying Kyle's spirit, and heaven be damned if I was going to allow it to happen again, and by the sounds of it, it was only going to get worse.

Like Tuesday, Wednesday went by extremely slow. Maybe not as slow, but it was pretty bad. More than anything I was afraid for Kyle, he'd had it bad enough already, and I was ready to help him if anyone gave him shit. This leads me to recess, where I knew Cartman would be having his little potluck.

Sure enough, Cartman met with Craig, Clyde, Butters, and now the majority of the boys from our class. Curiosity found me standing by the nearby wall, again, eavesdropping on the group. Kyle was in guidance office, so I didn't have to worry about him. Time to figure out what was going on.

Standing on a picnic table, Cartman stood, overlooking the throng of kids, which was actually only about ten students, but by the manner in which the double chinned boy spoke, you wouldn't have known.

"So. We all know why we're here, and we all know what needs to be done." Cartman declared, projecting his voice over the expanse of the audience with an awkward pivot of his head, which baffles me, considering I never knew he had a neck engulfed in the fat that gave him his "festively plumpness. "We are all here, because you have come to realize something I have known for a long time. That one amongst us, the one who goes by Kyle Broflofski, is not only a greedy, heartless, double crosser, but a danger to all of us and our families."

The group of boys looked amongst each other, chattering, and swapping stories and rumors.

"Y-yeah…Eric said that Kyle is the one who stole all our lunch money the other day…then hid it in the boy's bathroom. Luckily for us, Eric knew where it was. Thanks Eric for uh, getting us our money back…even if you only found half of it…" Butter's stated. God he's a dumbass…

"Yeah…and I heard he was going to bring in a bomb and blow himself and the rest of us up!" Token said over the din of nervous talking. I could see Cartman was more than pleased with what he had started, gleaming happily to himself, his ember eyes burning with evil intentions. I'm still not sure what kept me from running up to him and socking him a hard one across the face, but at the time I felt the need to lay low for the time being.

"Okay men." Cartman spoke up. "It's time we give Kyle what's coming to him. This time, I want full weaponry assault, pocket knifes, baseball bats, and air-soft guns are permissible. I want you men to give him a good old fashion Jew thrashing. Tonight, meet me by Stark's pond at 8:30, and bring your weapons.

"What makes you think Kyle will be there then?" Clyde asked.

"Oh, trust me, he'll be there, I 'ave a little scheme hatched, you don't need to worry about that."

I watched as Cartman's minions dispersed from under the tree, each going off to enjoy the few remaining minutes of recess they had left. I was angry, sure, in fact, I don't think there is a strong enough word to describe how royally pissed off I was, but at the moment, I was more perplexed than anything else. Did Cartman really feel that strongly against Kyle that he'd turn half the grade against him? I was just as confused as to how Cartman was going to get Kyle at Stark's Pond by 8:30, and considering I didn't know Cartman's plan there wasn't going to be much I could to do defer it. However, I did know one thing for sure. I'd be at Stark's Pond at 8:30 too.


	4. Blood Stains in the Snow

_Life, the concept of life is a strange thing. People, made of flesh, bones, and blood, all materials formed by the arrangement of cells, somehow have a sort of force within then that allows people to experience consciousness, thoughts, and feelings. Maybe that's what a spirit is, that force that gives you that connection to the world around you. Life is the essence of everything in theory, without it, there would be nothing. Then why do people try to hurt or end the life of others? What does that achieve? _

I could see words. _Words? Why was I seeing words?_ Groggily my eyelids opened, and I realized I was staring half awake into the pages of "The Odyssey," which apparently made a better pillow than it did an engaging piece of literature. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, stretched, and glanced over my shoulder to window. It was dark, I must have dosed off for a couple hours. Shows how interesting Ms. Garrison's homework is. I felt uneasy, as if I had forgotten something, or as if there was something _I needed to do._ As I stood up, the worst possible feeling hit me like a ton of bricks. My stomach writhed in my body, and I swear, my heart stopped for what couldn't have been less than four seconds. _Kyle…Stark's Pond…Fuck….What if I was too late?_

I knew turning to look at the clock could turn out to be devastating if I had indeed missed the crucial deadline. Pivoting slowly, my heart sank as my eyes locked onto the unassuming hands of my clock, which read 8:35. I could get there, but I'd have to haul ass. Maybe it wasn't too late.

It's times like these when I'm happy I typically never take off my coat and hat, even when I'm lounging around my house. Definitely saves time in critical situations such as this. I sprinted down the stairs, faster than I had the previous morning and even faster than I had that afternoon. The streets of South Park seemed empty, only scarcely illuminated by a few street lights that were few and far between, and the iridescent glow of the moon that cast a dim light over the desolate town. The sound of my feet smacking the pavement ricocheted off of the houses, although my body felt more like it was flying than running.

As I approached the pond and surrounding pasture, I saw nothing but the empty field, glowing softly with a fresh layer of white snow on its surface, and the luminous reflection of the moon on the pond's icy surface. As I got closer, I could vaguely distinguish a group of people, crowed near the woods. The silhouettes indicated they were my age, and the sight of a singular silhouette than appeared larger than the rest left no doubt in my mind this was Cartman with his posse.

As I approached, anger built inside of me. Around the center of their huddle, I could see Kyle, who stood with his back against the tree, his chest heaving heavily, his eyes wide with terror. His Hat lay several yards away, and his mass of red curls spewed over his face, and it was difficult to tell his hair apart from the streams of blood that ran astray across his forehead and cheeks. The boys, most of which were armed with switchblades, circled him, insulting him and throwing snow at him. Several of their knifes gleamed with freshly drawn blood in the moon light, and as I got closer, I saw large red patches in the snow. This wasn't good.

"What the fuck are you doing! Leave him the fuck alone or I'll shoot you!" I yelled. True, I didn't have a gun, but it was dark, and I'd pulled a gun once or twice before, so who were they to think I was bluffing? The mob of boys scattered, throwing back a couple more chunks of ice and snow, one of which hit me in the cheek which I would later realize left a bruise.

However, that was a paper cut compared to the wounds I saw on Kyle. I grabbed his hat from the ground and ran up to him, looking over his injuries as he lay awry in the bloodstained snow. He looked at me best he could, tears streaming down his bride red cheeks. It was only now realized the extent of his injuries. Four long, deep gashes ran across his head, on his cheeks, forehead, and neck, and the stitches of his previous injury hung out, resembling an old warn doll that a dog had ripped to shreds. Both of his eyes were surrounded by large, blue circles, and were barely cracked open. His body itself was saturated in blood, and his coat was ripped open exposing large slashes to his upper body.

"Kyle!" I yelled, realizing I myself was crying. Instinct told me to take off my coat, which I promptly did and began to wrap it around his larger wounds on his body.

"Stan!" He cried. He burrowed his head in my body as he began to sob. I hugged him tightly, feeling his blood saturate my t-shirt.

"You're ok now. They're gone." I told him. I so wished that we were at his house, possibly playing video games and having fun like we should have been. I had promised myself I'd never let anyone harm Kyle again, and I failed.


	5. A Trojan Horse

_Rumors. They're just rumors, that's all they are, stupid figments of mistaken peoples' imaginations that they feel the need to divulge to everyone. Then why can I see a small, persistent light of truth emanating from the cracks of this wall of lies? Besides, that's all they are, lies, and there's no truth to them, right? _

I sighed, watching my breath hang lightly in the cold Colorado air and rise and dissipate. It was a typical day, or at least to most people in South Park. Except me. Well, and Kyle too, but he wasn't accompanying me as I walked down the empty street that afternoon, recapping the recent events that had unfolded.

Kyle had found his way into the hospital after the incident on Wednesday. That night I had called 911, and had laid with him until the incompetent and impromptu paramedics arrived. I learned some things about mine and Kyle's friendship that night, despite the fact that very few words were shared between us and Kyle was more or less unconscious. I realized that the very fabric of my sanity lies within the bond Kyle and I share. And that night, seeing him so close to death, I broke down. After Kyle was hauled away in the ambulance, something inside of me snapped. I thought I had lost my best friend, and such anger built inside of me, I swear I could have killed someone, right then and there. But that was Wednesday, and it was a new day.

I halted abruptly as I came to and intersection of roads. The last place anyone would have expected me to be heading would be Cartman's house, and I myself was surprised I was allowing myself to go over there, but I had to get to the bottom of this. I just hope I didn't kill him in the process.

I turned down his street, making a b-line for his house. This wasn't going to be a peaceful confrontation by any means, but I was intent on getting to the bottom of this. This was the kid who had flipped the tables on my best friend's life, and I knew I had to do something about this or it certainly wasn't going to get better.

His house was just as inconspicuous as any other that street, and I thought it strange that no one would think that this particular house harbored someone so evil, he could be the next Hitler. I knocked firmly on the front door, telling myself I had to retrict myself enough to maintain some couth. After a moment, the door opened, and I stared into the eyes of the boy I had so much disdain for. At least I knew how to contain myself, that was something Kyle wasn't as good at.

"Come in Stan…you're just in time for Terrance and Phillip!" Cartman said with false enthusiasm. Cartman was a difficult character to read, but at least I knew to put no trust into his sincerity.

"No Cartman, this is more important that that." I retaliated in a firm tone. "This is about Kyle"

"Ah…I see. Stan, sit down, there's something I need to tell you about you're little friend Kyle."

I scowled a little, but sat down on the chair across from him. I had to stay focused, and I wasn't going to leave until I had gotten through to this asshole.

"You see Stan, everyone else has turned against Kyle because, well, they've come to realize something you've yet to. And, I know you're not going to want to believe me, being Kyle's best friend and all, but there's a lot you don't know about him."

"What do you know that I don't!" I shot back.

"Well, I hate to tell you this Stan, but Kyle, well, he uses you. Uses you because you're popular, because you allow him to attach to you making himself look 'cool.' Hell, he's a thief as well; he's even stolen from you."

"No, no that's a load of shit. He would never. Not Kyle, he's the most moral person I know!"

"O really?" the fat boy chuckled. "Maybe you'll disagree when I show you this."

Cartman reached behind him, taking a small green bound book from a shelf. I looked quizzically at the writing on the cover, which had the words "Kyle's journal," ornately adorning it.

"I didn't want to have to show this to you Stan, but you leave me no choice. Here, read it, but I warn you, you may not like what you see." Cartman said, hovering it lightly in front of my face. I looked at it, reluctant to take it. I didn't think Kyle kept a journal, but I hesitantly grabbed it from Cartman and propped it open somewhere in the middle. I wouldn't have bothered taking it, if the handwriting didn't disturbingly resemble Kyle's.

My eyes scanned the pages, which seemed harmless at first, but after further examination, they revealed something far more sinister than something I thought Kyle capable of producing. The particular page I happened to land upon read something like this,

_December 2_

_Dear journal,_

_Today Stan and I went over to his house and played his Game Sphere. It was fun; it's nice to know someone who has a game sphere. When he got up to go to the bathroom I snuck in his room and managed to take three PS2 games, about $52, and even some priceless pictures of him and Shelley. Ya never know when you may need some blackmail material. I hope to use that sometime in the future, I'm getting sick of Stan going around thinking he's something special. He's not, hell, I'm just as cool as him, he'll find that out some day_

I threw down the book and glared at Cartman. "You-you wrote that!" I yelled, trying to trust my own judgement. Something didn't seem right about this.

"Oh-ho, you think so huh? Tell him then Stan, tell him you read his journal. See what he does."

"I, No, it c-can't be!" I shrieked. I didn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it, was I actually falling for this? I buried my face in my hands and started to cry. I still wasn't sure what to think.

"Listen Stan," he said, trying to assuage me. "I know this is hard for you, but you're better off joining us. You don't want that sneaky Jew, er, Kyle to keep taking advantage of you now do you?" He placed his fat hand on my back as I sobbed. "You'll get used to it, trust me, you don't need Kyle."

I inhaled deeply, trying to regain my composure. "You're, you're sure about this Cartman? You promise to god he wrote that?" I asked, looking deeply into his eyes. Everything seemed so sudden, and I wasn't sure I wanted to draw conclusions so quickly. However, something inside me wasn't letting me doubt this.

"Yes…I'm sorry Stan, and I wish I could say otherwise." He said.

Tears again filled my eyes as I broke down. Then Cartman did something I wasn't expecting. He leaned over and hugged me. "It's ok Stan, it's ok," he whispered.

"I, I need to go home and think." I told Cartman after a few moments.

"That's fine, do what you need to do." He said calmly. Was…was that sympathy…from Cartman?

I turned to the door, wiping my eyes. "Thanks, Cartman." I said, before turning to leave. Cartman simply smiled.

The town seemed different. The street that Kyle and I had played street hockey on countless times, the pond that we had spent many hours simply sitting next to and talking, and the movie theater that we had gone to together when our boredom finally reached its peak; all seemed different. All of those places that usually brought back fond memories now evoked thoughts of something different all together.

When I got home, I quickly made my way up to my room. I fell down on my bed, staring emptily at the ceiling. I couldn't believe this was happening, just a day ago I had made every effort to save Kyle, but now...now it was different.

I rolled onto my side and my eyes came into contact with a picture on my shelf next to my bed. It was a picture taken about a year ago, and in it, Kyle and I sat happily next to each other on the couch. Why couldn't things go back to how they had been? Or had Kyle always been using me? I mean, the journal entry was dated no more than a month ago, but who knows how long it could have been going on before that?

I felt anger mixed with extreme despair building inside of me. I snatched the picture from the shelf, and without thinking, I ripped it into several pieces. I glared at the shredded memories on the floor. I cried, and boy did I cry. I felt a wave of nausea, and dry heaved a couple times before running to the bathroom and vomiting. There was part of me that still wanted to believe the whole thing was a lie, and that this was one of Cartman's stupid schemes. Why couldn't I believe that?


	6. Personal Reflection

_A baseball pitcher. Yup…if life were a person, it'd definitely be a baseball pitcher. Predictable in the sense that it's so unpredictable. Constantly throwing things at you…sometimes you get a hit, sometime you don't, and sometimes you don't even take a swing. And then, sometimes you get a curveball…_

Three days. It had been three whole days since I had visited Cartman, and three whole days of unsettling nausea and racing thoughts. However, time has a way of easing pain, and although I was still uneasy about the whole scenario, my rational side was finally budding from the soil of my psyche.

The sun was warm on my face, uninhibited by any trace of clouds, and the air was almost stagnant. It was pleasant, and I wondered if it was a sign of improvement. Maybe, things would get better. I could only hope.

I smirked, fascinated by my transparent reflection on the pond. Starks pond was a place for personal reflection, and here I was staring into my literal "personal reflection."

I sighed, and lightly tossed a rock into the shimmering surface of the pond, watching half amusedly as my reflection rippled and stretched into a distorted image of my face, and the little waves rippled out over the expanse of the pond, dissipating and shrinking as they grew further from the point of the rocks impact. Maybe these waves were like this whole mess, seeming large and significant at first, but then they eventually would become small and unimportant until they disappeared all together.

I pondered when the last time I had come to Starks pond by myself, especially on a Saturday. It occurred to me that almost every weekend was spent with Kyle, and Kenny to a lesser extent, and that I couldn't even recollect the last time I'd come down here by myself. While normal kids were out playing with their friends enjoying their Saturday, I was staring at myself in an oversized puddle. Yeah, that's definitely cool…

The thought hadn't hit me until then, but I realized I hadn't talked to Kyle since he was sent to the hospital. The day after, I had gone over to Cartman's, and I hadn't even visited Kyle to see if he was ok. Hell, I was supposed to be mad at him, but I was still skeptical over the whole "journal" thing, and I'd been so blinded by my anger that the thought hadn't hit me that I was actually _believing Cartman_. I decided I wasn't going to be angry at Kyle, and that it was downright stupid to but any trust into Cartman without further investigation.

My stomach lurched with this thought. _What if he thinks I abandoned him? He needed me, and I hadn't even talked to him. Jesus, what if he was really hurt? What if he had died? Shit…_ I inhaled deeply, allowing the crisp winter air to fill my lungs and meditate me from this sudden influx of anxiety. I decided I wasn't going to blow this out of proportion, and I'd just go visit Kyle. True, I had been on the brink of going insane just three days ago because I had been so angry at him, but that wasn't important now. He was my best friend, and I was going to see him. Fuck Cartman.

The hospital wasn't exactly a short walk away, but seeing that I'd propped my bike up against a tree before visiting the pond, I figured I could get there in ten minutes tops. I grabbed my bike's handles and wheeled it out from under the tree, heaving it a couple times to get any twigs and brambles out of the tire's spokes. I started to push it towards the road, when something caught my eye. _Oh god…_

Laying no more than fifteen feet from the tree, and little green object, something fabric, a glove, caught my eye. I stared at it, knowing exactly what it was and who it belonged to. I walked towards it and bent around the bloodstained glove that belonged to my friend. The blood…Jesus…what had they done to him? Only the very finger tips of the gloves were what could be described as green, the rest was more of a saturated brownish color. I plucked it from its spot in the snow, cradling it my hands before gently tucking it into a pocket of my jacket.

I stood in that spot for a moment, when all of those memories from that night rushed back into my thoughts. These memories, they weren't vivid in the least, and each terrified shriek and slash of blood filled my mind. There had been so much blood, way more than I thought possible of losing without losing consciousness, and the injuries. Kyle seemed so crushed, so hurt. He had been so scared that night, and from what I had witnessed he hadn't tried to fight back or if he did, any attempts had proven unsuccessful. It took a lot to contain Kyle; he'd fight when he needed too, most likely for justice, but also to his own self preservation. This was different though, he had been so overwhelmed and had just given up, accepting any brutal punishment those assholes dealt him.

I clutched my own gloves over my head, and curled over violently, trying to bring myself back to reality. Back to the warm sun, to the clear air, and bright white snow. I slowly uncoiled, and ran to my bike, which I had dropped onto the ground in my sudden onslaught of flashbacks. I stood it up, hastily made it to the road, and pedaled out of there like a bat out of hell. I never wanted to remember that night again.

As I rode down the desolate mountain road, I couldn't help but think this was going to be an awkward visit. It wouldn't have been, if it weren't these particular circumstances, but I hadn't even thought to call him in the hospital, let alone visit him. How was I going to explain that?

I could see the hospital sitting atop a small embankment as I grew closer. I felt sick. I felt lightheaded. I wanted to see Kyle, but I didn't want to face the fact that I had been as neglectful as a friend could be. Not to mention I was still trying to get any feelings of anger towards Kyle out of my system, which was proving more difficult than I had hoped. Not that I was actually going to believe Cartman, but it had such a profound impact on my outlook of mine and Kyle's friendship, and it seemed sort of hard to forget, even if I did blow the whole thing out of proportion.

_Hospitals are strange. Not only do you know that death has occurred there, but that death could be happening there at any moment. And not only death, but life as well. It's weird, many people are likely to die in the very same place that their life began_.

I stood in the shadow of the facility, staring up at the large letters that read "Hell's Pass." Not exactly a comforting name; and I pondered the amount of people who had indeed "passed into hell" from this very institution I was about to enter. I gently set my bike on the sidewalk and took a breath. There was no turning back now.

I walked into the lobby, and it bothered me how familiar it seemed. It didn't surprise me, however, since I'd been there many times mostly to visit Kyle when he would develop a random illness or if Kenny had somehow come close to death but hadn't yet passed.

"Hello there, are you visiting?" The receptionist called across the lobby, in a voice that conveyed false sympathy and comfort.

"Yeah, um, do you know what room Kyle Broflovski is in?" I asked.

"Kyle what?"

"Broflovski. B-R-O-F…"

"Ah yes, the little red haired boy? He's in room 105-23, that's on the forth floor."

"Thank you." I headed towards the elevator. There were something about hospitals; maybe it's there distinct smell, the smell of illness and chemicals that made me sick. As the elevator ascended, I felt my heart palpitate in my chest, and I grew queasy. I wanted to see Kyle, and it occurred to me I was being selfish by worrying about if he'd me mad at me for not visiting, rather than considering his physical condition. I didn't want to see any more blood, I'd seen so much on him the previous night, and I didn't think I could stand to see any more.

The bell on the elevator dinged, and it startled me a little. I stepped out onto the floor and walked down the long corridor. Each door looked the same, so normal, that I hated to think of the tragedies that could have happened behind each one.

105-23. I looked at the number. _Moving? Why was it moving? It shouldn't be moving._ I guess I was more nervous about this than I had thought, and now I was being plunged into blackness. I hit the ground, and fast.

In what couldn't have been more than a few minutes, I felt a cold pack being pressed against my head. I cracked open my eyelids, feeling somewhat dazed, and stared into the eyes of a nurse who was elevating my head and smirking at me. Behind her I saw Kyle's parents, staring at me quizzically.

"Are you ok little boy?" The nurse asked, helping me to my feet.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. " I said, somewhat embarrassed.

"Were you here to visit Kyle?" Mrs. Broflovski asked. "You know he's been wondering where you've been, he hasn't stopped asking about you."

"Yeah, I'm here to see him. How is he?"

I looked at both Shelia and Gerald, neither of which responded. It was only now I noticed how exhausted and haggard both of them looked. That wasn't a good sign. A few awkward moments passed before either of them said anything.

"Why don't you just go see him Stanley." Gerald said, conveying a sense of sympathy I wasn't used to hearing from him.

I nodded and cracked open the door just enough for me to slide through, and then shut it behind me. It was disturbingly quiet in the room, with only the monotonous beeping of a heart monitor filling the silence. It was dark, and almost the whole room was hidden in shadow. The room was a sterile white color, with a few teal accents, and even some smiley faces painted on the wall. That was a joke, there was nothing about this room that would evoke even the slightest sense of happiness, and I think the doctors put that there was some form of cruel joke.

I was avoiding the issue. Why was I noticing the room when I should be expending all of my remaining energy on comforting Kyle? The truth is, I was too afraid to look at the bed that was in the corner of the room, the bed where Kyle was laying, because I was afraid. Actually, I think a complete lacking of mental stability would describe it better.

When my eyes finally did meet Kyle, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Nothing. I froze, yet I couldn't avert my gaze from my friend's mutilated body.


End file.
